A Remembrance of Things Past
by YouRemindMe
Summary: Chapter 4: He'd loved her first; he'd loved her most. Unconnected, unrelated Tesla/Magnus oneshots and drabbles: fluff, angst, romance and friendship. Disclaimer: I own nothing.
1. Defence

**Defence **

Helen stomped angrily through the corridor "I simply don't give a damn how many knighthoods he has; the man's a fool!"

She continued to mutter angrily and unintelligibly."Professor indeed...idiot...no understanding of the most basic physics principles..." Nikola smirked, easily keeping pace with her long strides.

She abruptly stopped and turned to face him.

"Do you find this funny, Nikola? Because I most assuredly do not."

"What? I didn't say anything!"

"No." She scoffed, tossing her long blonde hair behind her shoulders, "you didn't need to. You just sat there smiling with that arrogant..._arrogance_ of yours." Her voice rose "He called me a feeble-minded woman, accused me of _distracting you _and you just sat there, smiling."

He gave an exasperated sigh, "My dear Helen, what did you expect me to do; jump valiantly to your defence?"

"Well..." She huffed.

His expression softened as he gazed at her, "That would imply that you need defending. But you are not feeble, or weak, or any of the other of the ridiculous things he called you. You didn't cower before him."

Nikola continued, an almost proud tone entering his voice "No, you stood up and told him and told him exactly what you thought of him. He looked positively terrified by the time you were through." He paused "You are not defenceless, Helen. To treat you otherwise would be a grave disrespect towards you."

She couldn't help but smile at him; he was right after all.

Nikola returned to smile "In fact you were rather magnificent." He said softly.


	2. When It Counts

**Spoilers: 'For king and Country'. **

**This is me putting my own little spin on a scene to make it a little more Teslen-friendly, enjoy : ).**

**When It Counts**

Striding into her office, she struggled to keep the anger from her voice. And failed. "Really, Nikola, of all the arrogant, inconsiderate, conceited-"

Holding hands up in surrender, "Okay, okay, can we move on, please?" he sighed, "Listen, Druitt came to me. He had this crazy idea that my electro magnetism could help exorcise his onboard energy elemental."

Automatically making her way behind her desk, she calmed somewhat. "Do tell."

"Well, I tried to help, give him back some control."

"And?" She prompted, suspiciously.

"You know Johnny," he said, walking halfway around the desk "the word failure comes to mind. He's still his nasty old self. What can I say?" He paused, looking away, waiting for the possible tirade that could follow.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" she demanded. Still, he notes, at least in a somewhat more annoyed then mad tone.

"Because I promised not to." He turned to face her.

She scoffed, "And you are nothing if not a man of your word."

The jibe hurts a little more then he would care to admit. Past situations and conversations between them spring unwillingly to mind, "When it counts." He replies, an obvious hidden meaning to the words, behind his eyes.

It is barely a flash, still she spots it.

It is a conversation he doesn't wish to have, knowing how it will end.

So he quickly continues, shifting her attention. "Look, Johnny and I may detest each other, it's true. But with me no longer being a vampire and him still being a stone cold killer- well, I wasn't really in a position to negotiate."

She sighed, "Where is he?"

"I'm not entirely sure. He could be anywhere by now."

She breathed out heavily, shaking her head slightly. "And you expect me to believe you?"

"_Yes_." He said, an expression very near to hurt crossing his face.

She leant over the desk, lowering her head. "How can I, Nikola? When you keep lying to me?"

"I don't lie to you." He protested. She simply stared at him, raising an eyebrow. He sighed, conceding, "Not really, not when it's important."

"Not when it counts?" She asked sarcastically, quoting his earlier words.

He can sense the conversation delving into unpleasant topics he would much rather avoid. "Yes..." he replied warily, "like this morning when I pointed out just how absolutely fantastic you look in a lab coat." Finishing the sentence with a charming smile, he turns away from her, walking over to the sideboard and examining the various glass decanters there.

Unswayed by his flippant and dismissive tone, she presses on. "Like in Rome?"

At that he stiffens noticeably, the muscles of his back tensing. A thrill of victory, of exhilaration, runs down her spine.

Back still to her, he replaced the stopper and returned the liquor to its previous position. All with painfully measured movements.

When he answers, his voice is unnaturally even and slow, "..._That_ was with a gun."

"No." She states, "Like in Rome?" she repeated, walking from behind her desk, to stand just behind him.

He turned to face her. "Does it matter?" Past his guarded eyes, eyes that don't quite meet hers, and his structured tone, she can sense the vulnerability. Something she is unused to from him. Something that points to...to him telling to truth... to him loving her. But she has to be certain. He has to say it

"Did it count?" She enunciated, a shiver of trepidation and hope burning through her.

Eyes finally meeting hers, he leans forward. The words resound with absolute certainty, determination, and devotion; "With you, always."

**The End**


	3. The Upside to Uncertainty

**A/N **My apologies, this was meant to be updated days ago, but for some reason didn't work.

**The Upside to Uncertainty **

**London, 1872**

Everything was loud. The room itself seemed to heave and sway with humanity. Sparsely allocated lamps provided only the most basic of light, casting the hall in a confusing and hypnotic haze. The atmosphere of cigarette smoke and whisky dried her eyes and burnt her throat, seeming to soak into her very pores. Her dress was too tight and her muscles ached. Making her way through the crowd someone bumped into her, again. Someone jabbed her, yet again. She mumbled an apology for a drink spilled, not entirely sure it was even her doing. Head spinning, she continued forward. Finding a wall, she moulded herself gratefully to the cold panelling, feeling the grainy texture beneath her fingertips.

Through her mind she ran a mantra: _One, two, breathe. Three, it's nearly over. Just breathe. _Voices seemed to merge and blur around her. Occasionally someone would endeavour to engage her in conversation, but thankfully a few seconds looking at her vacant face seemed to deter them.

It was awhile before John found her, ginning and handing her a drink, "All well, dear?" She took the glass, shaking her head, and then gestured to her ears. He frowned, repeating the question a touch louder.

"Yes, yes...fine." She gave a thin smile.

He leaned in closer to talk, "My apologies for spending so long conversing with Greyson. You must feel terribly neglected, but his theories on the-"

"Yes." She interrupted. The heat of his body next to hers, she felt caged and surrounded. "I understand, please, go, talk, I'm perfectly amused here."

"Really? I don't mind-"

Hands finding his arms, she pushed him away, a little quicker and with a little more force than could be considered polite. "Honestly, go." She somehow managed a smile.

"If you're certain?"

"Uh-huh."

The second his back was turned, she took a gulp of air. Thin and dirty, it didn't calm her. So she sipped at the drink John had handed her. Scotch; warm and dry. She fought the gag reflex, forcing it down her throat.

Heart beating fast, head throbbing, stomach flipping. She needed to leave. Still the party continued around her. One look at the mass of people about told her she wasn't willing to fight her way back through.

Glancing around her, she saw a concealed door, further down the wall. Gathering what energy she could, she pushed forward, carelessly dropping her emptied glass to the ground. How long had they been there? Two hours, three? She couldn't remember. How she detested these gatherings. Comprised of students mainly, some young doctors and professionals, there were very few women. Most of who were certainly not in the above mentioned categories. All too often she was seen as a curiosity, an amusement. Usually she could utilise her quick tongue and a sharp witticism to throw anyone too obnoxious or interested off guard. But, usually, there were fewer people.

She had always hated social gatherings, even as a child. She had felt keenly the urge to perform, to be sweet, or quaint, or whatever it was the particular situation had demanded. It was a pressure that in her daily upbringing she had been fortunate enough to lack. Of course, she also had the unique ability to be able to manipulate and charm a room full of people. The dichotomy used to puzzle her, until she realised the fundamental difference; her choice. Now, when she had cause to be in an uncomfortable situation, it was by her own doing, for her own reasons. She could take the fear and use it. Usually. But not tonight. Tonight had been John's idea. He was the popular, adored one of the group. Universally loved throughout campus; this translated into many invitations. And he insisted she accompany him. Often she would surround herself with the other members of their little group, but tonight they had been separated. Even Nikola, who usually hovered protectively at her side at these things, was no-where to be found.

The quite, brilliant foreigner, he knew what it was to be on the outside. He had been with her in the early days when she was still a subject of ridicule, as he himself had been. And he knew how very fast the new found respect her previous bullies had developed could disappear, especially in John's absence. So they stayed by each other, as always. Even after the addition of Watson, Griffin, and, most dramatically, Druitt, they still projected an image of united togetherness that perplexed and titillated many.

Shaking the loose curls of hair from her face, she continued forward. Elbowing, rather quite rudely, through a group of young men and a scantily-dressed woman; one enthusiastic young chap lightly grasped her arm. She not-so-lightly stomped on his foot. A fake, charming smile and she had disappeared into the crowd once again. Threading through, she finally made it to the door. Opening it a fraction, the crack of light fell on a set of worn stone stairs. Claustrophobia crawled along her skin as another person brushed against her side. Slipping through the door she cast one last glance across the room.

And saw him, just metres away. Nikola. Leaning casually against a table, arms crossed, watching her. Their eyes locked. She wanted out, so badly, but couldn't seem to move from his gaze.

He looked as shocked as she felt. Leaning forward ever so slightly, he inclined his head, an unspoken question. Looking around from the door, she nodded, barely perceptibly, but enough. She turned and disappeared. He drowned his drink and waited a few minutes, before following.

**...**

Despite the pitch black darkness, she threaded nimbly through the labyrinthine passageways. The noise faded fast as she moved forwards, and the heat no longer had the same oppressive suffocation to it. Still, she would not truly breathe until she reached her destination.

**...**

He pushed through the heavy wooden door; the biting night air hitting him almost instantly. Even in the darkness, he could still make out her silhouette by the moon.

She leant over the low stone wall, hands gripping the cool rock almost violently hard. Hearing the crunch of dirt behind her, she spoke; throwing her head back, eyes still closed "You found me then."

"Of course. This _is_ your spot..." He stopped to stand just by her right shoulder.

She breathed in deeply, "I needed to get away from there. It was..." she sighed, leaning forward again.

"I know." He soothed, moving next to her, reaching out to rub comforting circles on her back. "I see you're still not good with crowds." Nodding mutely, she fell into his side, almost humming with contentedness as he moved his other hand to run up and down her arm. They stayed that way for a few moments.

Turning slightly, she buried her face in his black silk shirt, inhaling deeply. "Could you talk to me, please? One gets nervous when _you're _not talking."

"I'll be getting you back for that when you're feeling better."

"I'd like to see you attempt it." She said, voice muffled.

He smiled at that. "There can't be much wrong with you..."

"Don't start."

"Oh, I love it when you get all authoritarian." He quipped. Laughing in spite of herself, she hit him lightly on the arm. Grinning, he reached down to her wrist, feeling her pulse. To his relief it was near-normal. "How are you feeling?"

"Much improved, thank you, Nikola." Here she disentangled herself and leant once again against the stone wall, this time facing him.

"Anytime, Miss. Magnus." He gave a comically exaggerated bow and tipped a hat he wasn't wearing. It reminded her so ridiculously of John that she had to bite back a giggle. She was almost positive that that was intentional.

Smirking, he raked his eyes over her body. An action so customary it was almost ritual. To the outside observer it would seem as rude and lascivious as ever, still she knew too well the analytical gleam in his eye. He was checking her over. She knew his inventory would not read well; messed hair, dirty skirt, sickly pale face, and she could feel the thin sheen of sweat coating her skin. Not to mention the light sway still apparent in her posture. At least the nausea was gone.

"I'm fine, really, perfect."

He tipped his head to the side, "That you are."

"_Really_?"

"What? I made you smile, don't deny it." He moved to her side, turning his head towards her.

"Did not." She scoffed, biting the inside of her cheek to avoid doing just that.

"Did so! You're doing it right now!"

"Am. Not." She grinned, biting her lip.

The action did not go unnoticed.

He leaned closer; face mere centimetres away from hers, "Now you're just being contrary."

"Am I, though?" She cocked her head in that all too familiar manner that often preceded her teasing him.

He frowned, "...Yes." He answered cautiously.

"Hmm..." She nodded, "but can you prove it?"

"Much as I adore hearing you talk, I do like to understand what you're saying. Elaboration would be appreciated."

A slow, lazy smile graced her lips as she took a slight step forward. "There's no one here, excepting us. Who's to say I smiled? You? Can you even trust your own sensory interpretation?" She leaned closer, until their bodies were almost touching. "Can you even be certain I'm here, now?"

She looked at him from beneath long lashes, eyes hard and determined.

He swallowed, "And you accuse me of having a 'refreshing approach to logical thought'..."

**. . .**

Perhaps it was the after effects of the nausea, she mused. Or the shock of the oxygen-rich night air. Or the alcohol. Yes, probably the alcohol.

There were limits on their relationship. Limits she had devised and enforced, certainly, but that didn't stop her from occasionally...allowing a little extra room to the both of them. Room to breathe, to think freely. But not to act. Never to act.

It was the wisest, most prudent course of action. They would flirt and tease, be the other's closest friend and confidante. But nothing more. She had thought about it. Quite often. And he had made no secret of his attraction to her. But she had realised very early on an affair between them could not possibly end well; they were too fiery, too passionate. Anything between them would be too all-consuming; they would either loose themselves, or destroy each other.

Although, sometimes, in moments of weakness she berated and doubted her rather pessimistic premonition; she would think that maybe, just maybe, they could make it work, somehow.

But then he would look at her. Through her, into her. She would feel every nerve in her body on fire. Aching. That was what it was to want him. What would it be like to love him? To hate him? Knowing them, the two emotions would in all likelihood be very much interchangeable. Hell, how often had she been yelling at him one moment, and seconds away from kissing him the next? She was a rational creature, had to be. Rationality was hard to maintain around him. And propriety, and morality. And what would they _do_? Get _married_? The idea was ridiculous. The both of them had so much they needed to do, wanted to accomplish. Things that neither would ever give up. Marriage required living as one, one home, one life, one set of goals and aspirations. Yet another thing neither of them could do.

Nikola agreed with her, she knew. They had never discussed it, of course. To discuss it would be to admit it. To admit would be to face it. To face it would be...dangerous. It would involve acknowledging the invisible, permanent force pulling them together. A force she was confident neither could resist. To that end she had never brought it up, and neither had he.

He was not oblivious. And he was no innocent child. She knew of all the women. She didn't know them personally, of course. She was sure he was careful about that. Mostly she didn't care. Let him bed who he liked, it was her he really wanted. Her that he spent his nights with, talking and reading, sometimes simply sitting with her by the fire. A part of her wondered if he had forgone the chance for a real relationship for her sake. For that she occasionally felt guilt, yet another part of her almost enjoyed the thought of having that level of power over someone, wrong as it was.

She knew from Griffin that none of the women lasted for long. It wasn't that he was cruel or callous; from what she understood, the girls he favoured were of the type that didn't really expect anything lasting. Hardly surprising, really. Any normal woman would be highly uncomfortable with the nature of the relationship between the two, would probably demand decreased interaction. Any more distance between the two of them was simply incomprehensible at the present time. They needed each other. Nikola would never agree to it. She hoped.

It would be a lie to say that it had never been a slight bit painful. Why not her? Why could he lay with them so casually; why could it mean nothing with others, but never would between the two of them? Because with them it could only ever be all or nothing. Or next to nothing. And all was not possible.

She had considered once that perhaps it would be best to quietly terminate the friendship, but couldn't bring herself to do it. After all, they were in control, weren't they? They had limits.

With persistent determination they had missed one chance after another, letting moments pass, certain it was for the best.

And what was the alternative, really? Throw all caution to the wind and just give in completely? It was very tempting. But, much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't brave enough. What if they failed? What if it didn't work? And just imagine how psychologically disturbed the children would be...they'd be brilliant, of course, and kind, maybe a little strange. Uh huh...most certainly the type of children who elicit animosity from their peers. Like their parents had. But they'd love science. And art, and history. And life. They'd want to change to world, turn it upside down. And they would, because they'd be strong, and fearless. And...damn, she was fantasizing again. Well, imaginary children were better than the usual thoughts she conjured around Nikola.

**. . .**

She was forced from her reverie by his voice. "And you accuse me of having a 'refreshing approach to logical thought'..."

His face came back into focus and she froze. What the Hell was she doing? With him, alone and flirting. Flirting to a degree that was dangerous for them.

On the bloody roof, no less.

"Helen..." He called softly, reaching out to brush the hair from her face.

Instinctively she leaned into his touch, surprising him. And her. But it felt so right, so normal, to be like that, with him.

He was so close. She could feel his breath ghost over her skin.

It couldn't hurt, she reasoned, it was just one touch.

What was one moment, when they had lost so many?

What was one more?

They couldn't a life together; but they could have this.

"We're alone." She stated.

"I've noticed."

The undertone to his voice, the unspoken understanding, made her swallow. "Haven't we agreed that one can never be entirely certain of reality? That things, events, of which we may be sure, may never have happened, from a philosophical viewpoint?"

"You want to have a philosophical discussion, here, now?" he said, moving unconsciously closer to her.

"No... I don't want to talk at all."

Neither would ever quite remember how it happened, who reached whom first. Yet somehow it did happen.

His lips were softer than she had imagined; his warm skin a drug against the cold night air.

And he, for his part, was lost in the strength of her touch, the insistence. As though she wanted to commit everything to memory. He knew he would never forget.

**. . .**

Later, there would be the occasional knowing, longing smile, shared accidently. The meeting of gazes, unintentional and inescapable.

But they didn't talk of it. After all, who could be certain it ever happened...

**The End**


	4. Symmetry

**A/N **I wrote this ages ago, I think it's set during Vigilante. It started out kinda funny, then it got sad, then it got. . .honestly I don't know: )Anyway, enjoy.

**Symmetry **

Helen was gone. With him. Again.

Nikola sat on the polished floorboards, leaning by the wall, head tilted back against the cold plaster.

Eyes closed, he reached out blindly, hand nearly knocking over the tall bottle. Cursing, he managed to grab it before it spilt.

Strange; how no liquid had escaped to the floor.

Lifting it to his lips he realised why.

Wine doesn't tend to spill when there's none left.

This seemed terribly clever and he giggled slightly. Banging his head against the wall in the process. This was painful; and therefore less clever. This contradiction with his earlier conclusion makes him laugh harshly, kicking the empty bottle away.

Now there was no wine left. No... Correction: there was no _good _wine left. Helen would have to get some more...

Helen.

It would seem his brilliant plan for not thinking about her had gone awry. Oh, more precisely, her and _him_. Together. Having tortured, angst-filled, forbidden love _moments_.

It wasn't her dying that was killing him. Well, it was. But not really. That he could deal with. That he would not allow.

But this? Them? That he had no control over. He never had.

It was just like before. He'd loved her first. He'd loved her _most_, damn it. From the moment he first saw her, heard her swear at a failed experiment.

She'd dashed about, knocking things over, tipping and mixing liquids in beakers, trying desperately to undo the damage. While he stood stunned in the doorway, having been unable to locate his class. She'd sensed his presence, looked up and very curtly asked if he needed anything or was simply one of those idiots who continually got lost.

And in that moment he lost his heart, his breath and any hope he'd ever had of determining his own future. It was hers, everything, all of it.

And while she glared he managed to throw something out about needing a pipette.

"The kind that can be found in _any_ of the science rooms?"

". . .Yes."

She looked at him oddly, but her previous defensive frustration seemed to disappear in the presence of his awkward eccentricity. "Left cupboard, bottom shelf to the far right."

"Thank you." He moved to stand at her shoulder. "You know, about 12mls of calcium carbonate would fix that."

He gave her everything of himself that day. He would have given her anything. Anything she wanted.

But what do you do? When the one you give everything to doesn't seem to realise. Can't understand the power they have.

He would have followed her anywhere. Followed her orders, her edicts, her methods.

And he did. Injecting a highly dangerous, unstable substance with unknown qualities into oneself was hardly the actions of a truly sane, whole individual. She had done it for knowledge. He had done it for her.

It was not in her nature to love like him. He gave all to one. And she part to many. In loving her he had forsaken his future, on the gamble that she may someday come around. There would be no other.

And she searched in others to find that which she longed for in herself, never giving too much, or taking. Hers was a journey that needed completion, step by step. Whilst he had already reached his destination, far, far too early.

They were forever slightly out of step, out of sync. Some times more than others.

And occasionally, sometimes, in unguarded moments and in shared hopes, disappointments and melancholy, they were close. So, so, very close. Tangibly, achingly close.

But then John would come along. Polite, murderous, deranged, remorseful, it seemed regardless of which facade he presented, she would be drawn in. Like a child to a gruesome magic show.

It happened every time.

He remembered that summer in Prague. It was so long ago, now. The early 20's.

He remembered soft breezes, the smell of her newly-dyed hair, bright nights and buried, rebellious hope. Her hand in his. Her voice teasing, melting in his ear. Her smile, his when he saw her.

They were happy. It was almost absurd, how easy it was, between them.

Then there were reports, whispers, of strange murders, in the east. It was a challenge, a dare, they both knew. But still she went. The game had started, and she had no choice but to play.

She returned different, distant. It wasn't the first time. It was not to be the last.

It was always like this.

A vicious cycle.

He'd tried to break it. He'd stayed away; for sixty years. It didn't make it easier.

There is, he mused, an almost poetic symmetry to their lives.

**The End**

**A/N** Well there it is. Angsty Teslen goodness. Thanks for reading. And remember that reviews make me happy. I write more when I'm happy *wink, wink*.

Seriously, though, heaps of people have alerted/favourited, but not that many have reviewed. I love hearing from you guys, and it really does help to know if people like, or don't like, what's being written.


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